A Nagging Question
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: During yet another night's vigil over his fallen companion Holmes questions and comes to a conclusion.


I sat with my chin in my hands staring into the fire of 221B Baker Street, my position more that of a young, lost boy then an educated man nearing the age of thirty.

There is something reflective about a fire, as though by peering into the flames one can recall memories and past thoughts more easily. it offers an excellent chance to question one's actions and doubt ones future, for one to rethink one's priorities and motives.

In a sudden fit of anger I seized the poker and violently stirred at the flames sitting back against the chair clutching my head.

How could I possibly have miscalculated so badly? When had I become so slovenly in applying my methods and predicting my enemies, and my friend's, movements?

It hardly mattered, for now it was a matter of locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen. The damage was already done.

And what damage.

A moan drew my attention to the sofa and I hurried from my chair to kneel beside it.

"Watson?"

The figure of my friend, wrapped in blankets, pale and still until that moment, stirred.

I laid a hand on his shoulder as his brows furrowed in consternation, his breathing increased and sweat stood out on his skin, he began to struggle against the confines of his covers.

I tugged at them to loosen them a bit and pressed him back down into the cushions.

"It's alright old fellow…I'm here."

His eyes flashed open and searched the room anxiously before settling on my face. They seemed alert but it was hard to tell exactly how much he was aware of.

I tried to smile reassuringly.

"Hello Watson."

He croaked hoarsely and struggled again with the blankets, frowning in annoyance.

I loosened them further and he fought one arm free, then reached out and clasped my hand tightly.

A very unusual lump formed in my throat and I tried in vain to clear it.

Now it was Watson's turn to smile, albeit weakly.

"Holmes." he croaked by way of greeting.

Several painful knots of tension unloosed themselves in my chest and I gripped his hand back.

I breathed out, "You gave me cause to worry there old fellow."

He closed his eyes and nodded, wincing slightly at the movement.

"What on earth possessed you?"

it was a moment before he answered.

"You...you." His voice sounded almost painfully hoarse.

I detatched my hand gently and rose to get him a glass of water.

He took it from me and I helped him to lift his head as he drank thirstily.

When it was drained I took it and laid it on the floor.

"You had to be warned." he finished.

"Warned?" I laughed, "Warned of what my dear fellow?"

"Of Morris."

I opened my mouth, then hesitated, it might tatter his already bent pride to hear that I was already aware of Morris' betrayal…that In fact I had been counting on it.

Watson noticed my hesitation however and his face fell. "You knew?"

"I'm afraid I did Watson…that telegram was merely to confirm my suspicions…it was only the worst of luck that you were here to receive it."

He groaned and closed his eyes again.

"So I leapt directly into the middle of things once again. Nearly destroying your trap and getting myself battered up in the process. Headstrong…man of action…knight-errant…tell me Holmes…why do you tolerate me and my overzealous, romantic tendencies?"

I snorted and he glared at me, signaling it to be a very important question, not one made in jest.

I sighed and seated myself on the edge of the sofa.

"I would far rather have you 'blunder in' as you so put it, then not have your assistance at all."

"You tolerate me you mean?"

"I did not say that."

"Then what do you mean?" he asked suddenly, catching hold of my arm, his brow furrowing again.

"You say that I am a sounding board, a conductor of light, that you would far rather have help with which you are familiar then the local rubbish you would have to deal with otherwise. But what does that mean Holmes? What am I exactly?"

He had obviously been troubled about this for some time for he fired it off rather rapidly, as one would a memorized set of lines for a play.

I hesitated, taken aback by the suddenness of it.

It was indeed a question to ponder…why Watson?

Why had I asked him along that first time on the Jefferson Hope case?

Was it out of pity, seeing this worn wreck of a man with a desperate need to be useful?

No. I was not given to fits of charitable pity that would in no way be appreciated by a proud gentleman such as himself.

Was it because of the qualities he had listed?

No. That was part of it certainly but not the primary reason. For as useful as Watson's qualities were they were not necessary. I could make do without them.

But I could not make do without him.

He had become more then just one of the tools or helpmates upon which I relied. The very idea of pursuing my cases without Watson made my me squirm.

What then? Why had I gone so far as to take this man on as friend and colleague? when all the directives and delicate balance of my chosen profession were against such unnecessary risk and emotional attatchment?

This was not the first time that he had been harmed either…if I was truly such a friend then why did I put him continually in such danger?

Why?

I raised my head and caught Watson looking at me. And in that moment I only grew more fond of him, The weary lines on his concerned face dispelled in the glowing light of the fire, his hazel eyes inhabited by such a spark and spirit of goodwill that no beating could dispell it.

In that instant I realized just how much I cared for this man, and I knew that I needed him.

I did not know why…why was not really important. It was the fact that I needed him, and I had him.

I smiled and I saw the tension and worry drain away from his face, as his perceptive gaze, ever discerning of the spirit and emotions that were forever eluding me, found the conclusion in my face.

And apparently it was answer enough for him as well for him as well.

"I'm afraid I don't know old fellow." I admitted, comfortable in his quiet company, the solitude of our small flat, and the warm, inexplicable glow that had lit inside my chest.

"Perhaps that is the reason why such a friendship is to be treasured." he said. "Because we don't understand it?"

I nodded, and he smiled, laying back and closing his eyes once again.

"Thank you Holmes."

I gripped his hand again, turning to stare into the flames, reflecting.

"Thank you…my dear Watson."


End file.
